


a mother's love

by Magali_Dragon



Series: one shots and other drabbles [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Mother's Day, Targlings (ASoIaF), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, celebrating dany as the wonderful mother she is and should have been, no such thing as season eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Daenerys's family celebrates her for being the wonderful mother she is.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: one shots and other drabbles [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567705
Comments: 72
Kudos: 408





	a mother's love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Mother's Day to the Mother of Dragons and all other mothers! Enjoy this fluffy one-shot.

Jon distinctly heard a crash while he was sleeping, which in his experience was never good.

In the past, he might have leapt to his feet, already wearing his black leathers and his boots waiting at his bedside, grabbed for Longclaw blindly, and charged straight into the danger of identifying the unknown noise. Which would never have been anything accidental like someone dropping a lantern or stumbling into a pile of armor. No, it would always have been something that led to a bloody fight where he would have barely made it out alive.

Thank gods those days were gone.

Instead, he opened his eyes slowly, listening keenly with the hearing of a wolf. He heard loud whispering, but he couldn’t make out the words. Sounded like they were not speaking Common Tongue. _Of course they aren’t._ He glanced at the small, warm body beside him, curled into herself and burrowed against him, seeking his warmth. Even if she could warm an entire room, with her dragon blood being what it was. He kissed the top of her messy silver curls, which covered most of her sleeping face. She mumbled in her sleep, trying to snake around him, but he slipped carefully out from under her grip, which she simply transitioned to a pillow. 

He took a moment to glance back at her, smiling. She was so perfect. Slim arms wrapped around the pillow, the blankets covering what he knew was a compact little body used to throwing itself into danger as often as he did his. Her other arm hid under the blankets, probably draped over the small swell of her belly, which had only recently begun to protrude as their newest babe grew within. 

Before he went to seek the unknown sounds, Jon knelt back onto the mattress, pulling the furs back so he could take a look at her belly, her night shift having ridden up over her hip to reveal a strip of pale skin. He lowered his lips, lightly kissing the underside of the swell. He smiled, at the light flutter he felt against his fingers. “Shh,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles along the spot where the offender had kicked. “Go back to sleep, leave your _Muna_ alone.”

There hadn’t been any further noise from the corridor or adjacent rooms, tempting him to remain in the bed with his wife and fall back into sleep. He lifted his gaze from her sleeping form to the line of arched windows, noting the sun had not yet broken over the horizon, but its warm glow mingled with the cool fading moonlight over the black sea churning at the jagged cliffs. He sighed; it would really be nice to actually sleep beyond the break of dawn, but unfortunately that was not his life. It never really had been.

Although now he delighted in the reasons why, unlike before. 

He got back to his feet, padding barefoot over to the door to the sitting area, his thin sleep tunic and trousers loose around him. He raked his fingers through his knotted curls, scowling as they caught when he tried to drop his hand. He paused outside the door, listening intently. 

The intruders had switched back to Common Tongue. “You are gonna’ drop it!” 

“No I not!”

“Gimme!”

“No mine!”

There was another crash and a knowing scoff “I told you!” Sounds of fumbling, scraping, and more clatters. “It is fine. She will like it.”

“Where’s Ghost? He needs to help us.”

Knowing Ghost, he was with them, wishing he was back in front of the hearth sleeping away his mornings like a pampered palace pup instead of the wolf he happened to be. There were no more battles to fight and his direwolf had lost his desire for tearing out throats and drinking the blood of enemies. He quite liked having his meals brought to him, food dropped from the table, and pretending he were a giant rug instead of a weapon. He deserved the life of course, but even when there was trouble to be had, the wolf had to be near. If only to protect his charges.

He closed his eyes, pushing his mind out, searching for the tether and pulled. He smiled when the dragon responded, yowling as he roused himself from sleep, in his nest along one of the cliffs on the other side of the castle. He asked where the others were and received the roar confirming her favorite son was sleeping at the top of the Dragonmont and her sweetest son was off diving for fish. 

With a big breath, he figured he had to find out what was going on before it turned into a bigger mess than it probably already happened to be. He waited again, hearing only squabbling. And flung open the door. 

“Good morning.”

The two sets of identical violet eyes whipped up to meet his, wide, surprised. He couldn’t hide his smile, much as he wanted to cut an imposing figure. The eldest twitched, dying to speak first, but it was his youngest who blurted out: “Papa it was her idea!”

He stepped into the sitting room and closed the door, so they didn’t wake their mother. He glanced at them both and at a tray containing what appeared to have caused the commotion. A torn loaf of bread, a cup half-filled with a tarry substance he thought might have been tea, and several honey cakes, one of which had a bite taken from it. The tray also contained a spilled jug of fruit juice, a smashed egg, and cheese that had dust coating one side of it.

It was clear that they had raided the kitchens to prepare this feast and as the tray was too heavy for one, attempted to carry it up themselves, and well, barely made it. The floor had breadcrumbs, a puddle of juice, and sticky honey from where some of the items had fallen. He lifted his gaze up from the mess to them, silent and waiting. It wouldn’t take long, they were physically incapable of containing themselves for too long. 

It was his youngest who sputtered first: “We wanted to give Mama a present!”

“Shh! You ruined the surprise!” 

His lips twitched, gray eyes twinkling. He couldn’t be upset with them if he tried. “Ah,” he said, nodding. “And you thought to bring her food to break her fast?”

“Uh-huh, in bed. Cause’ she’s the queen.”

“Aye, she is the queen.” It was not her name day or any other special occasion. He wondered what prompted this newfound generosity. He rubbed his beard, trying to maintain an impassive look. “And ah…why?”

The youngest, his sweet little boy, who was incapable of hurting an insect, exploded, too excited to contain his enthusiasm. He threw his arms into the air, almost knocking his sister in the face. His silver curls were wild, dropping over his eyes and he hurriedly pushed them aside. “Cause’ she is the bestest Mama and we wanted to tell her because she’s the bestest and we love her so much and…and…”

He stumbled, too many words at once for his small mind to process. Ever the leader, his daughter scowled at him before she puffed up, smoothing her hands over her nightdress. “And we wanted to tell her we love her very much and give her a present. So she knows we love her because she’s our Mama.”

Jon wondered if they overheard the conversation, he distinctly remembered having last night, after their supper, where she had been a bit down on herself, upset that she had missed Aemon’s archery lesson because she had to respond to an urgent raven from the Eyrie. She couldn’t go riding with Rhae, because the Dornish had decided to pay a surprise visit, violating the rule that she had set forth that when the family left the Red Keep for Dragonstone it was just for them, all other matters could wait or be dealt with via raven, and yet they thought their argument with the Volantene navy in the Stepstones was important enough to violate that rule. There was also the new babe, now that she had finished being ill every morning and exhausted all the time, she was trying to spend time with her other children so they wouldn’t get upset with the new baby after she gave birth.

He was planning on telling Davos—their Hand—to cancel all meetings, hide all the raven messages and just let them keep, for at least one day, so she could spend it all with her children, both human and dragon. He had located something in one of the many winding corridors and hidden rooms of Dagonstone he wanted to show her but wanted to wait until an appropriate time to bring it out. It seemed today was that day, courtesy of the children. 

_Such smart children_ , he marveled, kneeling to help them with the tray. “Come along,” he said. He picked it up, nodding towards the door. There was no way she was going to eat the smashed egg or the dusty cheese, but it was the thought that counted. “Let’s go give this to her.”

Lyella vibrated in place. “You are not mad?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? You are doing a lovely thing for your mother and she needs it. Come on then.”

Aemon snuck between his legs, almost knocking him over. “It was my idea!”

“No it was mine!”

He rolled his eyes. He grabbed hold of Aemon by the back of his trousers before he could race in and attack his mother. “Ah, it does not matter whose idea it was. No running, be gentle.” 

_Gentle_ was not a word in either of their vocabulary. While Aemon could be a lot more reflective than his older sister, and preferred stories and sitting with them while they held him and told them tales of the Long Night and the War for the Dawn, he was still a dragon like Lyella. He leaned back on the door, allowing them entry and held the tray carefully. He shuddered to think what the kitchens looked like. 

They ran in, jumping up onto the big bed, the sudden shifting underneath her startling Daenerys awake. “Oh!” she exclaimed, laughing and moving back onto her elbows, as Aemon fell down beside her in a giggling mess and Lyella crawled up to give her a big hug around the neck. “What is this lovely surprise? Good morning my little ones.” Her shining violet eyes landed on him, mouth forming an ‘o’ at the sight of him bringing her a tray in bed. “Oh my! Is it my nameday?”

“No, it is your day,” Lyella exclaimed, still latched around her neck. “All for you Mama, because we love you very much.”

“Oh!” 

Tears were on the way, he sensed. He could blame it on the babe, as she often got weepy when she was with child. Dany was not a very weepy woman otherwise. He chuckled, lowering the tray onto the bed, eyebrows lifting and silently telling her what had happened with his eyes while he spoke. “The children decided to bring you food to break your fast in bed.”

“Ah.” She winced at the odd assortment of food on the tray. “Well, this looks….lovely. Did you make me my tea?”

“Yes,” Lyella said, picking upt eh cup. She frowned. “I think it’s cold.”

“Well…” Dany made a show of drinking the sludge from the cup, her face tingeing a slight green. She swallowed hard, but he thought he also saw her spit a little of the mixture back in when the children weren’t looking. “Lovely!”

He stifled a laugh, Aemon tucked in his lap while Lyella clung to her mother. “So what else did you plan to do?” he asked the kids.

Lyella shrugged. “We want you all day.”

“And you shall have me all day,” Dany said, resolute.

So they did. They took her from her rooms after she had dressed and quickly braided her hair into a simple plait, showing her their most recent drawings and lessons that Missandei had done with them, that they had been unable to show her because of all the meetings she’d had lately. They took her to the yard, showing off their archery skills. Aemon was a master with a bow, while Lyella preferred swordfighting. They got their horses out, racing off along Dragonstone, all four of them and Ghost running happily alongside. 

He called for Rhaegal, the green dragon bringing along his brothers, who sensed that this was a different day, and all three landed with heavy shaking thuds along the grassy cliffs, the children screeching over how they wanted to go for a ride. It was her favorite thing, so Jon didn’t do his usual pouting and protesting against strapping the children onto their chests and flying up from Dragonstone to soar among the clouds. 

He had Aemon, who was screaming happily, trying to avoid getting smacked in the nose with a wayward fist. His hands clutched tight on Rhaegal’s spines, knowing the dragon would sooner die than allow any harm to come to the little one who also rode alongside his rider. Aemon laughed, turning his face up. “Can we blow something up!?” he shouted.

Jon sighed, about to suggest no, but ahead of them, Drogon was releasing controlled streams of fire on the Narrow Sea, smoke rising from the frothy waves with each burst onto the water. He could sense Rhaegal dying to do the same, so he allowed it, Aemon screaming: _Dracarys!_

They flew around for quite some time, only landing when Aemon’s teeth began to chatter at the cold air blowing around them. Viserion was the first to land, making room for them all and tucking his face down to his mother, who approached him slowly after Lyella ran off to them, exclaiming how fun it all was and how happy they made Mama. He let Aemon go, glancing over to see her with her sweetest son, who often felt left out because his two brothers had riders. 

He waited for the children to run off with Ghost, claiming they wanted to go searching for treasure along the beach. They would have a watchful Dothraki guard with them, so he let them go off and went over to Dany, who was stroking Viserion’s snout lovingly. “How is he?” he asked.

“He’s his usual sweet self,” she sighed, smiling at the cream dragon, who tittered happily. She glanced sideways, chuckling. “They are handfuls, are they not?”

“The dragons?” he teased, although he knew exactly to whom she referred. Their children were certainly handfuls. They were always getting into something, at some point or another. He wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. They should do this every year, he thought. Make an entire day just for her. To celebrate her being a mother. It was her proudest accomplishment. Not defeating the Night King, or taking down Cersei, or abolishing slavery. Those were wonderous in their own right. 

He knew that being a mother was the most important thing in the world to her, something that she desired in the deepest pit of her heart, something she long thought was impossible for her. The day Lyella came into the world was scary for them both; he never dreamed of being a father, had scoffed at the notion. He was a stupid boy then, Uncle Benjen had been right. He didn’t understand because he didn’t know what he would be giving up. He wrapped her tight to him, her belly pressed against his, through the many layers of fur, leather, and his thick cloak, he could feel it. 

_The dragon must have three heads_ , she had told him, when she announced she was with child again. They had not discussed it, but they also had not prevented it from occurring. Much like with Lyella and Aemon. 

He closed his eyes, inhaling the lemony scent of her hair, holding her tight. “I love you,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him, over the sound of the sea below and the wind that whipped around them atop the cliff. He sighed. “You are an amazing mother. We should celebrate it always.”

She lifted her face up to his, tears trickling down from the corners of her eyes. “You’re just saying that,” she mumbled, cheeks pinking at the praise. 

“No, I’m not. It’s true.” He lowered his lips to hers, kissing softly, murmuring. “They wanted to do a nice thing for you, but I think it’s bigger than that.” 

Missandei told him once they called her _Mhysa_ , in the former Slaver’s Bay cities. _Mother._ Mother of dragons, mother to them all, Missandei said. He could not think of a better role for his wife. The hard, tiny, formidable woman who he had met at that very castle, shocked at how young, how beautiful, and how strong she was. He hadn’t thought much of the Dragon Queen on the journey from Winterfell, but seeing her in person, he realized he had been a complete fool to believe she was as vicious and bloodthirsty as all made her out to be in the North. 

She could be that when she wanted, but she was gentle, kind, and loving. _Mother_. He kissed her head again, keeping his arm around hers as they walked from the cliffs towards the beach, to find the children playing in the sand around the mouth of the cave that still housed copious amounts of dragonglass, where he had thought he might have first fallen in love with her a little bit, staring at her in that dim glow of the torch, the shining black glass glittering around them. _I should have kissed her then_ , he thought idly. So he kissed her now, a soft, gentle one before Aemon knocked hard into his knees, almost bowling him over. 

“Aemon!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry,” he giggled. He held up a pile of shells in his hands, cheeks ruddy from running around in the wind. “For you Mama.”

“Thank you darling, they are lovely.”

“And me too!” Lyella ran over, hands filthy, clutching piles of wildflowers that grew around the rocks. She giggled. “Here!”

Dany laughed, taking her presents. “I think I might like this day. You bring me food, we go for a ride, you show me all your wonderful accomplishments, and bring me shells and flowers.”

He smiled, thinking of the gift he wanted to give her. He would wait though, until later. The children wouldn’t understand just yet, the enormity of it. He nodded towards the castle, after noticing Aemon’s wide yawn, which he tried poorly to stifle. “Let’s go back, come on.” 

They trooped back, the four of them, and after the children had gorged themselves on soup and bread and milk, passed out in the solar on the carpets and furs in front of the hearth, with Ghost serving as a pillow for them, did Jon finally go and get his present for his queen. He took it from the room where he’d hidden it and returned, holding it carefully away so she couldn’t see it. 

He propped it against the wall, glancing over to see her sitting on one of the settees in front of the fire, her feet tucked under her, and her gaze on the children lying asleep in a pile on the floor. She was holding a mug of hot tea in one hand and her other was resting on her belly. “What are you thinking?” he called softly. 

She blinked, startled, gazing up at him. “Where did you go?” she asked, not answering him.

“To get something.” He walked over and sat beside her, drawing her bare feet into his lap, pressing hard on the bones and muscles, which he knew pained her sometimes during her pregnancies. Sure enough, her eyes dropped shut, and she moaned softly, toes curling into his palms. He looked at the children. Ghost’s white fur was a stark palette for them, Aemon’s silver hair shining, in direct contrast to Lyella’s almost black curls. They were perfect miracles, his children. 

And he wouldn’t have them if it werent’ for the woman sitting beside him.

They certainly needed to celebrate that. Not just yearly, but every damn day.

He moved to take her into his arms, placing her mug on the table beside them. She went gladly, her head tucking against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, sighing. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you,” he replied. He stroked her hair, aimless. He smiled at the babes before them, murmuring: “Mother of dragons.”

“Hmm…yes.”

He picked up her hand, squeezing, her mother’s ring pressing into his palm. It was her most treasured possession, after her children of course. He kissed it and placed it back in her lap, moving slowly to get up. She frowned, watching him, eyelids hooded sleepily. “Where are you going?”

“I was looking around one day, a few weeks ago, for nothing really, just wanted to go searching.” Ghost had been with him. He’d been annoyed to the point of finally leaving the Small Council meeting, too close to throwing Tyrion from the Chamber of the Painted Table for his liking, and thought it best if he leave rather than start a war. He had been in his thoughts. _Brooding_ , she called it. Ended up in an area of the castle he’d never been before, in a large room filled with furniture and crates and things hidden for gods knew how many centuries. 

It was hard to reconcile, having grown up at Winterfell, that Dragonstone was even older than the stronghold in the North. Built during the days of Valyria. There was magic in its walls. He had been looking through a crate, filled with old embroidered textiles, when Ghost had knocked over a series of paintings. It was hard to tell who had hidden away many of these things, whether it was Stannis or even Aegon the Conqueror. He’d gone to the clatter and found some paintings of beautiful Targaryens, all of them exotic and otherworldly, with their silver hair and purple eyes and sharp features of a long-ago land.

He didn’t know who some of them were, although he probably should, from their sigils and colors. He thought one might have been Rhaenyra Targaryen, from the strange sigil that had the falcon of the Eyrie with the dragon of the Targaryens. It wasn’t until he found one did he stop, stare, and remove it completely. He was absolutely certain of whom the woman painted on the canvas was. The dirt and grime removed gently, he saw the writing on the bottom, confirming his suspicions.

If it wasn’t from the writing, it would have been confirmed by the ring she wore on her right index finger, curled in her lap. The slight tilt of her lilac eyes. The way the painter had drawn her smile. Gentle and curved. Even the little furrow above her brow. It was all the same. 

He picked up the painting and carried it to her, carefully turning it while he spoke. “I found this, in a room down near where the dragons used to nest. I thought it appropriate to bring it out of hiding.”

When it turned, he heard her gasp, her sob. She grabbed for the edges of the gilded frame. He kept it standing, because she would surely drop it. She shook, staring lovingly but also longingly at the beautiful woman painted in her youth. “Oh,” she cried, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh my gods Jon. It’s my mother.”

Rhaella Targaryen looked just like her daughter. She had a bit softer face, her hair considerably lighter, but overall, they were the same person. Dany touched the crown painted in her hair and the ring on her hand and the way she smiled. He wondered whether somewhere in Winterfell there was a painting like this of his mother, but doubted it considerably. The Starks only had images of their loved ones in death. Even then, only the Lords. Lyanna Stark was the only one immortalized forever in stone and he would have to be satisfied with even that. 

He stumbled through his words. “I thought since well, we are celebrating you…celebrating mothers and all…you would want this.” He sighed. She was sobbing. “I’m doing a bad job of this.”

“Oh you stupid man.” She set the painting side and got to her knees on the settee, grabbing hold of his face in her palms. She laughed, dropping her forehead to his, grinning, laughing. “You are not doing a bad job at anything. I love you so much. You have no bloody idea.”

He thought maybe he did, when she kissed him, with all she had. She poured everything into the kiss. They wrapped tight in each other, his heart filling with love he had never felt in his life until he met her. Every day seemed to bring with it something new, in her arms. He broke the kiss, still keeping her against him, and swayed lightly, glancing down at the sleeping children. They would nap forever, if they let them, and probably shouldn’t, but he didn’t move to wake them. They were so peaceful in sleep.

After a few minutes, they crawled down onto the floor with them, falling asleep on either side, his hand lightly crossed over them all, fingertips on her belly. She smiled at him, before she drifted off, whispering. “Thank you, Jon.”

He sighed. “Hmm…for what?”

“Without you I wouldn’t be a mother to them.”

Physically no, he thought, but in general... He opened his eyes, meeting hers, whispering: “You would be a mother with or without me.” He thought of the dragons, circling above them. Of all her people, who followed her to the death. All the ones she had loved and helped. _Mother to us all_ , Missandei had said. 

Truer words were never spoken, he thought, as Dany sighed and curled around her children, drifting off to a contented sleep.

**fin.**


End file.
